


Good Night Sweet Heart Good Night

by NervousAsexual



Series: The Empath [2]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e08 The Empath, Made-up Vulcan comforting techniques, Mind Meld, Other, Sharing a Bed, The Triumverate has a sleep-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: After the encounter with the Vians and the empath on Minara II, Spock tries to comfort Bones.





	

Dr. McCoy, Spock observed, had not yet fully recovered from his brush with death.

Physically he seemed fine--certainly better than he had in the lab of the Vians with a 13% chance of survival.

Something continued to bother him, though. Even Jim had noticed something was amiss and invited the doctor and Spock himself to spend the night in his quarters, something they hadn't done in quite some time. And Spock, although he missed the breathing room of his own bed, had agreed.

It had been some hours since they'd retired and Jim had turned down the lights. Usually by this point the doctor (who started the night as Spock did, on the edge of the bed so that Jim had the entire center of the bed to roll about in) had fallen asleep, and when that happened he usually rolled back over and finished up with one arm around Jim and his head tucked under Jim's arm. Not tonight. Tonight he still lay on his side with his face to the open room.

Between the two of them Jim snorted, loudly enough to almost wake up, then rolled over onto Spock's side and returned to sleeping easier.

It was apparent that Jim now laid claim to Spock's side, and, dutifully, he got to his feet. Jim promptly rolled onto his stomach and draped his arm off the bed.

Very well. He came around the end of the bed, wondering about the specifics of Gem, the empath they had met. Was her power anything like the Vulcan mind meld? Did it leave a trace of the empath behind? Was that why the doctor now slept differently?

But, he saw now, as he came upon the doctor's side, Dr. McCoy was not sleeping. His eyes were shining brightly in the dimness of the light.

"What do you want?" the doctor asked. His affect was remarkably subdued.

"I had noticed you were sleeping differently, or at least lying differently."

McCoy pulled the blanket up around his head. "What about it? I'm just thinking."

"I see."

Dr. McCoy closed his eyes as if out of spite, as if to prove he was trying to sleep. But, Spock noticed, his face was damp.

"Doctor, have you been crying?"

The doctor draped an arm across his face.

"It hardly makes sense to be so forthcoming with your other emotions and still go to the trouble of hiding this particular one."

The doctor made a noise with which Spock was unfamiliar. It was almost a snort and not quite a sob.

A bit of Spock, the human bit, perhaps, felt suddenly very sad. Empathy. How fitting.

He took the doctor's hand in his own and pulled it down onto the bed. With two of his own fingers he traced a pattern on the doctor's palm.

"Spock, what are you doing." The tone of his voice did not suggest a question.

He felt a sensation he recognized as frustration. Fascinating. "On Vulcan this is how one comforts someone with whom one is intimate. It is meant to be calming."

The doctor opened his eyes slightly.

"I suspect it does not work because human hands are less sensitive than Vulcan." He put his fingers against the doctor's face. "May I?"

For a moment he thought McCoy would refuse, but instead he shrugged one shoulder.

The meld felt chaotic from the instant they connected. Spock was mildly surprised. There was more fear than he'd expected, more anxiety, more sadness. But that should not have surprised him. Even he had felt some things very strongly on Minara II. He felt the pain and the fear and heard the doctor's voice begging, please, please... begging not for relief, but to be let go.

When he opened his eyes the doctor was looking at him. "Well?" he asked. "Which is it?"

"Pardon?"

"Fascinating or illogical. Which is it."

"I... I am afraid I don't understand."

McCoy scoffed. "Please. Of all the things that humans do, suicide is most illogical of all."

"I would beg to differ, doctor. When one has been in pain for a long time it is only logical to wish for the pain to end, in whatever way possible."

A sudden rush of tears spilled from the doctor's eyes, and he rolled over to face Jim.

"Doctor?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Leonard?"

"I wish I were dead," McCoy said softly.

"Do you?"

The voice broke over the words. "I don't know."

"For what it's worth, Leonard," he said--there was just enough room to lay down beside him with McCoy tucked between him and Jim--"for what it's worth I am, and Jim is, and the crew is very grateful that you don't."

There wasn't much room. He angled his head up against the crook of Leonard's neck and sighed. It wasn't the breathing room of his own bed, but he could feel Leonard shaking and sniffling and it didn't seem to matter.

"Good night, Leonard."

Leonard McCoy's voice was rough and faint. "Good night, Spock."


End file.
